


Unspoken

by Shiny_Red_Cape



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:30:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Red_Cape/pseuds/Shiny_Red_Cape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little fic that works on the assumption that Robin came over with the first curse, so he’s in Storybrook season 2 when Regina is just beginning to try being better and he’s offering a little silent support for the woman he can’t help but notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with an owl. A tiny thing, no longer than her thumbnail, carved delicately from a burl of wood and slipped into her coat. She felt something fall as she took out her wallet, and stared at it, uncomprehending, when it turned out not to be a loose coin. How do you get such detail in something so small? Though her mind tells her to hand it to Granny so that it can be reunited with its proper owner, all she gives her is the money for her coffee and a polite “Thank you”“. The delicate animal is slipped back deep within confines of her pocket, gripped tightly in her hand as if it would disappear as unexpectedly as it arrived. She doesn’t notice the pair of eyes tracking the movement as she leaves the diner, nor the slight smile that graces the naturally upturned mouth. She tried not to dwell on the object too much, but finds herself reaching for it at odd moments, or running her fingers over the whorl to ground herself when temper strikes. A lucky charm of sorts, to ground her.

A month later she’s leading her horse towards its stall. It’s hard, this change thing. Remembering that your instincts were not always what you honed them to be. That love is not a bucket that can run out if you keep pouring. Henry can spend time with Emma and still love both of them just as much, and if she repeats that enough it will be true. She is still his mother, and somewhere deep inside she is still the girl that found solace in the stables and the woods beyond. She can find that girl again. There’s a harmony she feels, among those trees, that belies the sky high heels and careful makeup she shows the town. It was a place of peaceful afternoons and stolen kisses, of riding and talking and freedom. Even now, in private moments, when the memory of Daniel makes her throat ache and her eyes fill, under the poison she glances a flash of that wondrous sense of possibility that always accompanied them. There’s a key there, in the leaves and the logs, and it goes in a lock somewhere in her she’s still looking for.

Hand raised to push open the gate, she stops. There, resting on the ledge, is a little horse. Bigger that the last one, it’s the length of her finger, the neck of the creature dipped gracefully down as if about to drink. She glances sharply around, but there’s nothing but straw and the gentle whickering of the gift’s living twin. Of course there wasn’t, she’d been gone for hours. Unobserved then she can smile. She takes out the owl that has keep her company these past weeks and places them side by side. Their family resemblance is obvious, these came from the same hand. They were definitely meant for her then. In lower moments she’d scowled at the owl on her dresser, dismissing it as a lost toy someone had dropped and herself as a fool for finding comfort in it. Then later, when her emotions quietened, she’d move it to her bedside table where she could look at it as she fell asleep.

Whose hand though? The Evil Queen could find out, tracker spells were easy games, but it felt wrong somehow. Like the knowledge would taint it. Magic has a way of tainting things, and she’d been trying to keep her promises. Would knowing help her? She considered that for a moment. No. Knowing would mean facing the person behind it, and she’d never been good at people. Rejecting them would mean rejecting this, and she wants this. A little piece of peace to carry with her. She picks them both up, the statue is a little damp, they’d had a shower this afternoon. Giving in to whim she lifts it to her nose, it smells like bark and clean, fresh rain. Calm and good, it smells like the forest. She slides the figures safely into her bag and continues caring for the horse beside her.

Two weeks later she’s leaving her house and is brought up short by the sight a little boy crossing the road in front of her. A mop of brown hair can’t be contained by the hat pushed down over it, but it’s the expression that has her stopped. Dimples flashing he’s talking animatedly to a man who must be his father, hand flailing as he takes two steps to keep with the man’s one. She remembers that age, when the best part of your child’s day is telling you about the absolutely, most important thing that happened. When the world’s amazing and you get to see it through them. The memory moves her forward to her car, where she finds a bird statue that looks like it might just fly out of her palm. Maybe she won’t drive today. Though the coolness of autumn is setting in, there is a brilliant blue sky, good for walking and breathing in the air. Her arrival at the diner causes only the smallest of ripples, she walks towards her son’s table determined to put her best face forward. The conversation is a little awkward. It flows easily around her but is filled with jokes she’s not a part of, plans she’s not invited to. When they leave her son presses a quick kiss to her cheek before running out with his other family. There’s a little pain in knowing that it meant so much to her, happiness he’d given it, but hurt that it meant so little to him. Ruby delivers her order, and her thanks to the waitress is met with no reply, but with a smile so empty she can see the bottom of it. Her hopeful mood punctured she takes out the bird and stares at it again, running her fingers up and down the ridges of the wings. A flurry of movement catches her eye as she realizes the little boy from earlier has settled into the booth in front, and is trying his best fit an entire piece of pie in his mouth. His father is telling him to slow down, or at least try chewing, and meets her eyes over the boys shoulder with a shrugging look that says, parent to parent, ‘what you going to do?’. His eyes are blue, she notes, and warmer than she’s used to.

The sight of them doesn’t bring the pleasure it did half an hour ago. She fixes what she hopes is an appropriate expression on her face, this is after all the first openly friendly overture she’s had from a stranger in weeks, and turns her attention back to her breakfast. She misses his gaze linger on the keepsake she’s still absently toying with, the light frown as he surveys the remains at the vacated seats around her, and the downturn at the corner of her lips. The food doesn’t seem to interest her anymore; she leaves soon after, only half finished.

He’d heard stories of the great and terrible evil queen, but from what he’d seen in this land, she seems much like a woman. A vulnerable woman at that. He’d spent too much of his life running from her guard to think her innocent, but evil? If she had been then something was obviously happening here. In town he’d seen her, alone, or in a group but still isolated somehow. Seen the ache she tries to hide as she stares after her son when he leaves her. The thanks she gave to the waitress who delivered her order, that was met with cool silence. She seemed to be genuinely trying to make amends, and everybody, no matter how bad, deserves a second chance. He’d made enough mistakes in his life to believe that. So he’d rearranged the patrols in the forest when he realized she was there, riding or wandering, she seemed to want the safety of solitude to rebuild herself. But solitude and loneliness make easy bedfellows, so he gives the gift of one and does what he can for the other. His whittling knife is tucked safe into a pocket, ready for the next time her shoulders seem heavier than usual. He doesn’t know what it is in the air of her that keeps drawing him back to her, but surely everyone, even she, deserves to have some little support when they choose not to take the easy path.

That next night she finds a little carved squirrel, resting in a small hollow in the trunk of her apple tree, and it brings the first hint of a true smile in days. She strokes it gently with her thumb and brings it inside to join the group next to her bed. Perhaps it’s childish, but the sight of them when she wakes up makes her feel like maybe she can do this. 

Not everybody out there wishes her ill.


	2. Chapter 2

When the skies begin to boil he sends the Merry Men away, fast and far with Roland tucked into the back seat of the weathered truck they drive to keep him safe on the far side of town, then begins to run towards the epicentre. Magic may have returned, but it’s still a rare and nebulous thing, less tied to the rules of the old land. If something this powerful is afoot, then he knows where he’ll find her.

As familiar as he is with these tracks it takes time to reach the well, and when he does he has to force himself to stay beyond the clearing, out of sight of the people within. He forgets sometimes that they’re not close. That while he feels he knows her he doesn’t actually _know_ her, so when the green light disappears and she falls, he shouldn’t run to where she’s half lying on the ground repeating apologies over and over to her son. He’s missed something important, that much is clear.

Movement inside the well reveals the savior and the princess. Eyes tracking back to Regina he seems to be the only one who notices move forward a little at Henry’s shout of “Mom”, only to sink back as he runs for the blond. He’s sure the boy isn’t intentionally cruel, but sometimes intentions don’t get you very far. It doesn’t stop her slump of dejection, an understudy left in the wings. She’s trying to repair herself, mouthing something he can’t hear but he’s sure is supposed to be sincere from the way she’s trying to smile. Emma looks uncertain but willing enough, neither her nor the lad noticing how the hug they have yet to release is crushing her as they talk.

They walk away and she remains, trying to gather up the pieces so she can follow with at least the illusion of strength. It may be too soon, but he can’t leave her like this. He’s tried, these past weeks, to be less of a stranger to her; a smile and a nod as they pass in the street, a friendly face at Granny’s. They hadn’t spoken yet, save a “Terribly sorry” and apologetic grin when Roland had run a bit too forcefully past her one day. She’d forgiven them with a hint of a smile as she watched his son scramble up the monkey bars, and Roland had gotten an ice-cream treat on the way home for no reason.

He makes his presence known and she just stares at him for a second, another, exposed and unsure what to do with this unexpected intrusion.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “He’s not lost to you”.

She starts to bristle and he hurries on. “Being a mother, is more than a matter of biology. Sometimes the people that bear you have no right to the name”. He pushes away the image of his distant father and see’s her swallow (your mother, she’s a piece of work). “Don’t underestimate the bond you two share, you built it over a lifetime and it’s less fragile than you might think”.

"You were watching". It’s not a question. He has the grace to look abashed, and gives her as close to the truth as he can.

"These woods are as much a home to me as the house I keep, when I saw the magic I came to see what was happening. I didn’t mean to pry; once I arrived I realized it seemed to be a family affair and didn’t wish to interfere".

"And yet you’re talking to me now" she rejoins, and damn if he doesn’t have any kind of answer he thinks she’s ready to accept.

"I was… concerned" is all he can offer. It’s both too little and too much.

Regina seems to lose her fight. She’s noticed him before, from time to time; liked the way he gaze doesn’t have the same knives of the townsfolk. Wishes he wasn’t here, trying to be kind, when what she needs to reclaim her hard outer shell.

"Who are you?" It was meant as a demand but comes out tired.

"Robin Locksley," he replies, with a small bend at the waist, "Though you were probably more familiar with me when I went by Robin Hood". It takes a moment to connect the face with the wanted posters, her brow raising infinitesimally when she makes the link. "Yes, well," he hitches one shoulder in a shrug, "We all have a past".

She has a brief, wild urge to laugh, but fears she’ll choke on it. “That we do” she settles for. The quiet that follows is thick, but to her surprise not entirely uncomfortable. He begins to withdraw, turning back just before the tree line.

"I’m a friend, if you decide you want one" he tells her. She seems startled, it’s been a long time since someone has offered her friendship with no strings; assuming there are no strings. He disappears before she can answer and she finds herself relieved. There’s an instinct in her to slip behind her queenship, even here, to sneer and insult and refuse, to punish others for the assumption that she might need someone, but his disappearance hasn’t given her the chance. She pushes her thoughts away for now, she needs to pull herself together and catch up with everyone. If she finds it easier to stand straight and clear her face that’s something to consider at a later time.

—

Robin walks a distance, then calls Little John; Roland is fine and they’re eating at the diner. When he arrives at the diner he has to explain to his unrepentant friends that pancakes are not the ideal dinner for a 4 year old, however happy it makes them, and orders a meal so he can split off some of the real food on to Roland’s plate. He’s barely shuffled over his carrots when the door opens, admitting the loud and happy royal family. All’s well that ends well he supposes, but then something strikes him as not right. The dwarfs have finished filing in but no one is following them.

 _Where’s Regina?_ He has a sinking feeling he knows and feels a flash on anger on her behalf for their callousness, intentioned or not. He excuses himself for a few minutes and leaves, jogging towards the center of town. Sure enough there’s a light in the window of her house, illuminating the figure curled up tight on the sofa, holding something round and childishly clumsy in her hand.

—

She wakes up uncomfortable, limbs at odd angles and an ache in her neck where she’s fallen asleep where she lay. Her eyes feel sandy from the night before, but her mind cleared from the indulgence. “He’s not lost to you” she reminds herself, thinking of the hug Henry had given her, and of the man in the forest ( _I’m a friend if you decide you want one_ ). She stretches out the kink in her neck and goes through the motions of morning; dress, wash, breakfast. When she opens her door to fetch the paper, on top of the roll stands a small wooden bear, rearing protectively in front of a smaller cub. She picks it up with a wry pull of her lips, “You and me both” she tells it, and heads back inside.


	3. Chapter 3

It's when Regina decides it's best for all involved to avoid her newest acquaintance that she can't seem to be rid of him. He's sitting in the diner with his moppet-haired little one when she comes in for her morning coffee, passing her on her route home as they head for the playground. She's begun to see his beaten up truck on her way to work and can't tell if it's new or had always been there and she's just now noticing. He smiles at her when their eyes happen to catch, or offers her a neighbourly good morning as the occasion might warrant, but she doesn't reply. Doesn't want to encourage this witness to her private pains to get any closer than he's already tried to. It's with annoyance that she realizes, despite herself, she's grown accustomed to seeing him about her day. That rather than discourage, her lack of response has given his good-natured smile a hint of smirk, daring her to acknowledge him. It seems they're both as stubborn as each other. When, one Saturday afternoon, he's absent from the diner as she arrives, she tells herself she's pleased as she sits looking a tiny row of ducklings waddling in their timbered line (the newest addition to her growing collection) while she waits for her food. She doesn’t need a friend. The bell rings to signal a new arrival and her eyes fly to the door; the whole group enters, minus the person she actually wants to see.

“Where’s Henry?” she asks them. ‘He’s on his way’ she’s told, just stopped in to the store to collect a comic book he’d ordered. She adds his favourite burger to her order and waits.

\--

Robin is heading back late from playtime at the park, Roland in hand, when the car turns too fast on to Main Street. The squeal of abused rubber on concrete gives enough warning of the dented hood making its way unsteadily towards them for Robin to gather up Roland and jump away from the edge of the road to a safer distance. He catches sight of a bleary-eyed driver trying to straighten up his wayward vehicle, mouth forming an obvious curse as he over-corrects his wheel and sends man and machine both careering towards the opposing sidewalk.

There are a few screams from onlookers, but time slows to a sickening inch as Robin looks over and realizes that Henry now standing directly in the path of destruction, only now – too late – turning to see what the commotion is about. His shout of warning to the boy is lost to the twin female cries of _"Henry!"_ , and the next moment his vision is awash with purple.

He cradles a whimpering Roland tighter, making a cage of his body to wrap around him for whatever comes next. _He hadn't heard a crash_.

The purple haze clears and the reason becomes obvious. Regina has the car suspended in ropes of cloudy, glowing power. The Charmings are swarming Henry now, he seems a little shaken but otherwise unharmed. Roland can see the fine tremor of anger running over her as she releases the car, she's fairly vibrating from it.

\--

"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" she spits at the idiot, wrenching the driver door open. The man inside is unshaven and slovenly, and the ruddiness in his cheeks isn't entirely natural. There's a waft of cheap liquor obvious even from this distance. He's too far gone to respond properly, cursing instead her damn magic and the swelling lump on his head from the sudden stop, and Regina is so angry, _so angry_ , that it's fizzing through her blood and sounding a dull hum in her ears. How easy it would be, to take this pitiful excuse for humanity, this would be son-stealer, and light him up like a torch. The alcohol so prevalent would only make him burn faster.

It's only when Henry's concerned "Mom?" breaks through her thoughts that she realises the fire she's imagining has formed on her palm. She can tell from the look in Henry's eyes, from the thick tension in the gathering crowd, that she's been considering this a moment too long, and takes a deliberate breath to help her draw the fire back within. It's almost chokes her, the painful swallow of rebottled rage, but it's back inside. She takes a step towards Henry and suddenly Snow is there, the staying hand on her arm making Regina want to snarl at her like an animal for getting between them.

"I'll take until you're feeling more... settled".

As if she'd hurt him! As if she wouldn't set the very world on fire in recompense for the slightest bruise. Henry tries to say something but Regina nods shortly and steps back, not trusting her voice. Any words she says now, the anger and fear and the need to just take him and disappear somewhere safe still riding her, will only have them trying to take him further away from her. Better safe than sorry, and God knows she can make people sorry when she puts her mind to it.

"We can talk at Granny's after this-", a gesture to the scene, "-is sorted out" Snow tells her. 

She gives another curt nod of assent and makes a conscious turn away, careful not to look at the driver being pulled out and handcuffed lest the dull simmer of magic on the back of her skin come to a boil again. She forces herself to breathe slowly, a deep in, out, in, closing her eyes until her heart is not longer thudding angrily and the adrenalin begins to seep away.

She opens her eyes to find Robin a few feet away, body bristling and face taut, holding Roland in a firm grip at his side.

"I would have considered it" he tells her grimly. His voice carries and he doesn't seem to care. "I may have stopped myself from doing it, but by God I'd have thought about it".

_What?_

"He could of killed your boy. If it hadn't been Henry it would have been someone else, it could have been Roland," he hugs his son to him and rakes a fast assessing look down and up her, uninjured - at least physically. "It could have been anyone". 

The anger's not for her, she realizes. Or rather, is for her. Is for her sake. She stands flummoxed by this unexpected understanding, resisting a sudden urge to smooth the fist clenched at his side and tell him she's fine; the need to reassure him surprises her and is quashed immediately.

Their little battle of wills aside, she's supposed to say something back "They have him now anyway" is the best she can do. She goes to walk away but he stops her with a hand on her wrist. It's the first time he's touched her, an unprecedented move for them, fingers warm against her pulse. His voice is lower now, intended for her ears and not the dispersing crowd. 

"Thoughts are not actions, milady. Wanting to hurt those who may do you harm, even unintentionally, is a natural thing. What's important is the impulses you choose to act on"

"I take it you couldn't see the fireball from where you were?" she arches a challenging eyebrow at him, daring him to see in her what the town is so certain of.

"I saw it," he replies, unfazed, "and I saw it disappear"

"It nearly didn't"

"Nearly doesn't count for much in this life". He releases her to hitch Roland up more securely, the boy's head on his shoulder beginning to take on the weight of sleep. "Change is a process, not all the steps you take necessarily move you forward, but it doesn't mean it's not happening"

He walks away, relieving her of the need to respond further. She watches him go, stuck between telling herself she doesn't deserve the credit he wants to give her, and just for a while finding comfort in it.

\--

Snow didn't bring Henry with her.

Through the glass he can make out what looks to be a terse altercation between Regina and Mary Margret. His lip-reading skills are rusty and the lighting poor, but he makes out the words 'murder'. 'I am his mother!' he doesn't need to strain his faded talents for that, it's clear to anyone looking and reflected in every muscle of her body. Regina jerks her hand towards the other woman, palm up and and open handed, 'what would you have done?'. 

That seems to quiet the dark-haired princess; she knows what it's like to lose a child.

He marvels a moment at the simplicity of these people. To be so sure that everyone can be labelled so neatly.

The bell jingles sharply as she enters, having seemingly decided that the near-empty diner (and dealing with the inhabitants within) is preferably over the total emptiness of her house. For her sake he's glad that the lack of patronage means she can make her way to a stool unremarked upon. 

She's a statue at the counter, Granny's pointed decision not to hurry over to serve her leaving her undisturbed. He's not sure if she's aware of him walking over next to her, her eyes staring sightlessly off into the middle distance, mouth a stern hyphen. A deft sleight of hand slips the delicately whittled rabbit from his pocket to her handbag as he positions himself in the stool next to her, studying her subtly from the corner of his eye. She'll find the gift in time, but somehow it doesn't feel enough. She needs something. 

(She needs someone) 

He doesn't look at her as he takes the drink he's been holding and pushes it across the surface with a single finger to rest in front of her. Her eyes flick downwards but she doesn't move, and he has to remind himself to breathe. Either she'll drink it or she turn around and skewer him, but surely either is better than this bruised stillness?

A full minute passes before she makes the decision to reach forward and take a sip, but her next breath comes out as a sigh, life seeming to reinfuse her limbs along with the whiskey. He signals to Granny for another, returning the older woman's disapproving stare with a long, cool one of his own before she goes to get the bottle. Moving his attention back to Regina, she's returned the tumbler to the bar, tapping the edge with one carefully tapered fingernail. Sensing his eyes back on her she inclines her head towards him and contemplates his face, eyes searching his for a charged moment. _What is she looking for? ___

__Whatever it is she does or doesn't find, she turns back to the glass. Robin can't help but feel he's just been tested in some way. But has he passed? She takes another sip of her drink._ _

__"I just came from the station"_ _

__He works hard to keep the triumph off his face, schooling it instead into a congenial smile._ _

__"Oh?" he responds lightly, collecting his new glass from the frowning proprietor._ _

__"Yes, I was checking on the man from earlier," _making sure they throw the book at him _, "apparently Mr. Gideon's car was stolen this afternoon".___ _

____Ah._ _ _ _

____He is the very picture of innocence. "It sounds like Mr. - Gideon you say? - has had an unfortunate day" he remarks evenly._ _ _ _

____He's not worried. There's a lot of woodland around this town and he knows every inch of it. The prince and his daughter are fine sheriffs, but that's a lot of land to cover for something everyone would be happier to see gone._ _ _ _

____"Between that and the loss of his license, I would imagine Mr. Gideon will be walking to get his liquor from now on. Assuming he has the money after he's paid for the town repairs and the fine"_ _ _ _

____Robin is momentarily distracted by the little line of irritation between her brows that appears with the words 'town repairs'; even now the lady's still the mayor. If he did have the money he wouldn't for long. Storybrook was about to become victim of an unfortunate rash of pick-pocketing, centering around the liquor store. He's sure the nuns could find some good use for the anonymous donation. Somehow he didn’t think the police would pursue the case too vigorously._ _ _ _

____She seems lost in her own thoughts again, that frown line deepening as she takes another swallow._ _ _ _

____“You didn’t do anything wrong” he tells her, and the _look_ on her face. She’s done everything wrong. She struggles with her next words for a time, before finally answering, _ _ _ _

____“You’d be the only one who thinks so”._ _ _ _

____The bell sounds again and she doesn’t turn to look, but he does. He gives a smile, a full, real smile to the latest arrival and slides from his chair. “Apparently not”._ _ _ _

____She frowns and follows the direction of his gaze as he walks away, patting her son’s shoulder as he passes._ _ _ _

____“Henry!” is the last thing he hears as he leaves the diner, the squeal of the stool against the floor. He turns and peers through the window as the two embrace, sees the younger mouth his thanks to his mother. _He’s not lost to you.__ _ _ _

____Her eyes meet his over her son’s head. It’s good to see her happy. He holds the connection a moment before movement from Henry breaks it and he turns to walk away, whistling as he goes._ _ _ _


	4. Chapter 4

There’s a shift after that, a chance that the ground might not be made of quicksand after all, bringing with it a blooming sense of possibility that takes Regina a while to recognise. Since the curse broke her emotions have been running through her blood like a fine ground glass, and she’s been so used the raw scrape of them that when she wakes up the next day without the sluggish pulse needling her, she lies back in bed unable to puzzle out what’s different.

She feels cathartically empty, like the first deep breath after a long illness. There’s still an underlying ache, but an evening with her son, and a few private tears (too much, too short a space of time) shed after his departure, has cleansed the poison from yesterday.

_Henry came to see you. You’re still his mother._

***

Henry has a bone deep stubborn streak that - blood or not - is all her, and while she’s only rarely glad of it, it served them both well yesterday when he followed Mary Margaret to the diner.

Apparently there had been some protests over him wanting to go with her.  
Apparently her little prince doesn’t like being told what to do anymore than either of his mother’s do and had gone anyway, keeping out of sight.

She’d phoned, though she’d rather fry the lot of them than lose this chance, but they can’t both be rebels today. It takes a strongly worded conversation with Henry to stop David marching over there that second, but it warms Regina through to hear his defense of her. “Why would she hurt me now?” Henry protests. Why indeed, when she’d just near roasted a man for attempting the very same thing? The indistinct sounds from the other side of the call seem to disagree, but enough is enough. Regina takes the cell from between his ear and shoulder, pausing just long enough to say she’d bring him back at 10, before ending the call with a decisive tap of the screen.

They stare at each other a moment. What to say? Where to even begin? Henry solves the dilemma by pulling out a much-watched copy of Star Wars from his backpack. With a smile and a raise of his eyebrows he holds it up and breaks the silence.

“So… snacks?”

Not waiting for the answer (who are they kidding, like she’d have denied him anything at this point) he whirls to plunder the cupboards. When he follows her to the sofa, hands crammed with goodies and doughnut already in his mouth, she’s found the soft throws they snuggle under for TV time. There are a lot of things she should say to him; the book, the curse, the lies she’d tried to make him think were in his head, but this all feels as fragile as new ice, so she spends the next two hours watching him watch the movie and honestly can’t remember the last time she was this happy.

***

The memories buoy her out of bed, through her morning rituals and down into the kitchen, where she uses some of her energy to clear away the remnants of the previous evening. It’s while washing the bowls in the sink and enjoying the sun filtering lazily through the windowpane that she notices a little face staring up at her. Perched carefully on the outside of the frame is an exquisitely rendered hedgehog, frozen as if mid-waddle, nose sniffing up revealing a perpetual smile. _Happy Days!_ it seems to say to her as she unlatches the window to rescue it, and for once she’s feeling optimistic enough to smile back. She allows her new friend to sit next to her plate as she eats her breakfast, then picks it up and holds it in her hand, delicate blunted prickles leaving soft indents in her skin, before slipping it into the pocket of the more-casual-than-usual black jeans that she’s paired with her silk blouse. Maybe she can infuse it with a drop of these moments and keep them with her, a talisman not unlike that first tiny thumbprint owl that she eventually added to a chain and is even now wearing around her neck. She needs to see Hopper today, to talk about the fireball and the fury and poke at some of the tender places of her psyche. She’d rather not, but she made promises and like it or not the visits do help. Anyone else is this town would call her a victim of her own actions (or something more crude), but Hopper gives her a friendly neutrality that she appreciates, that she doesn’t get anywhere else.

Her mind throws her a picture of crinkled blue eyes and the smell of whiskey. Almost anywhere else.

She lets her mind linger on his face awhile as she adds a coat and heads for her car, she doesn’t often let herself really consider the man. She’s never excelled at making friends, never had reason to learn how. Her mother has wanted her isolated for a long time, easier to shape without the interference of others, and when it had become useful to start introducing Regina to limited society there were always other, more political manoeuvres at play, rather than the chance of genuine relationships. Given that the only friend she’d ever had ended up dragon dust on a cavern floor she had rather thought herself past the whole business, but against that weighed his words in the forest and again at the diner, and how nice it had felt, even under the circumstances, to talk to somebody who appeared to have no agenda beyond getting to know her. Did she really want to make that leap though? Now? With everything else? Something else she should probably talk to the good doctor about she supposed, as her car carries her the short drive to his office, and wouldn’t that be pleasantly awkward. She sighs as she reaches her destination, and taps the bulge at her pocket. _Happy Days_ she promises herself, heading for the building.

When she emerges an hour later her mind feels full, but not smothering. They’d spoken about her magic, though she’d taken some issues with Hopper calling it an ‘promising step’. “You chose not to, even if it was a close thing,” he’d insisted, “you chose Henry over your rage, that’s progress”. How some people can be so wretchedly placid over this she didn’t understand, she’d replied, which had moved the conversation into the fact that Robin had told her the same thing. The smile the former-cricket had given her was so unbearable kind it had made her want to hide her face and slap his for looking.

_Trusting people may sometimes lead to you feeling hurt, but how does never trusting people make you feel?_

Time was up so he’s left that to bubble for a while. She toys with her necklace; they still haven’t broached this topic. She should probably mention her mystery benefactor, but doesn’t like the idea of analyzing these gifts, wants instead to hoard these small kindnesses to herself like a giant hoarding treasures. She doesn’t stop thinking about the session though, even as she goes through the rest of her day. She makes sure to thank Ruby for her coffee at the diner and doesn’t glower at one of dwarf’s muttered apology when he accidentally runs into her, dismissing him instead with a simple 'it’s fine’. Baby steps.

 _People are going to be angry, but this is new territory for them as much as it is for you. Can you have another chance yourself without giving them one, no matter the time it takes?_ There are no quick fixes here, and probably between her and some people no slow ones even, but the thought lingers. Clings.

When Robin smiles at her two days later, she dips her hand into her bag to find the rabbit that had bounced out when she had accidentally knocked the purse off the chair earlier, gives him a breezy “Good Morning” and manages to arrange her face into something appropriate, promptly thinning into an amused smirk as he trips over his own feet in shock. She shepherds Henry away, leaving Robin with a bruised ego and a four year old with some very serious questions about how his daddy managed to fall over nothing. When by _complete coincidence_ later that afternoon he appears next to her and asks to share the bench she’s occupying as she waits for Henry to finish school, her feigned surprise that his boy must have worked very hard to get into big school so early lacks any real bite, and is interpreted an invitation to sit down. Some small talk about their respective children keeps the conversation going until the bell sounds from inside and cues a swarm of children to emerge, Henry among them.

( _'Roland’_ he tells her, and she doesn’t have to force this smile. She’s always been attractive but does she know how God damn beautiful she is when she smiles? he wonders privately. The rarest things are often the most stunning)


	5. Chapter 5

Robin always had a plan. As the leader of a small band of outlaws against a kingdom you don't run in to things half cocked. The land may be different here, but Robin is under no illusions that this is a siege. You don't storm a castle without a strategy and whatever the reasons Regina is a fortress of one. He wanted to know everything, to drink up the truth of her in greedy gulps, to hoard her like a dragon with its treasure. Every softening in her defences is a little thrill in his blood, the weeks and months only strengthening his desire to be more to her then he is.

(He’s been distracted lately, in the wake of the thaw in their communication, about what it would be like to kiss her. He pushes it away, understanding the fragility of her forming trust in him, but it finds him sometimes and the temptation is a hot breath of want over sensitive skin).

He'd seen her once in the Enchanted Forest, as he slipped unnoticed through the palace halls. Had lost his planned escape route and been forced to divert briefly through the main hall under a hastily acquired servant's garb, when he'd stopped and had not been able to go again. He'd been fortunate that the King had begun to speak to the crowds, lavishing his attention on his dark haired daughter, so no one thought to notice the still man with the empty tray. The new queen had been wearing silver, or maybe it was white and the glow of her rendered it more, but it was her expression under the intricate hair and golden crown that had him rooted to the flagstones. A pained vulnerability that sharpened the longer the speech continued, a solitary figure made lonely despite the throngs. How does this fool not see what he's doing to her? This wise, benevolent king?

He had his doubts. When King Leopold had lessened the sentence for thievery from death to the loss of a hand, people had called him kind, willing to punish the wicked but to give them a chance to learn from their mistakes and live out their lives as honest citizens. Never mind the poverty and hunger that had driven them to steal, or that the loss of a hand was often just a slow death in disguise with no coin for healers to stop it festering, or the starvation that followed a survivor who was unable to work the land should they manage to find the opportunity. This king seemed more concerned with the appearance of good than the practicalities.

It was the thought of this punishment that returned him to his situation, forcing movement back into his limbs as he found an empty corridor leading outside. He hadn't loved her then, his heart firmly in Marian's keeping, but he hadn't been able to forget her either. The image of her had sunk into his skin and lodged somewhere deep; the unhappy girl queen by torchlight.

It was a long time before he saw her again and time has wrought changes on them both. Robin was a father now, only this morning his baby boy had shuffled to his mother’s side and clung rounded fingers into her dress to pull him upright. The little one had smiled like the sun at the both of them, babbling in satisfaction at his newest accomplishment. Her Majesty, meanwhile, had become the subject of gossip since the King’s death, then of whispers, then of fear as her reputation rolled over the land like a malignant fog. Stories of her slip to the safety of shadows as if their utterance might somehow conjure her wrath into being. He’s in a village at the edge of the kingdom when her carriage arrives, her ongoing mission to capture Snow White pushing her to the farthest borders of her lands. Tucked away quickly into a secret cubbyhole by the grateful recipient of his latest haul, Robin has had a few close calls with the black knights recently that he’s not over-keen to repeat, he takes in the scene from the spy-hole. It’s hard to reconcile the young woman – girl really – with the figure descending from the vehicle. There’s a surety entirely in contrast to her earlier self, a presence that commands the small crowd to silence without her needing to sully her mouth with the words. Her entire being speaks to a determined confrontation; as if to dare the world to do its worst so that she can do hers back and laugh in the ruin of it all.

The villagers don’t take that dare, flinching when they make the mistake of meeting her eye. Rather than recoil, Robin wonders; what happened between then and now to that bowed figure on her throne, to make her grow such teeth? What malice touched, and stayed, and took living form that she turned to clamp the world in her jaws and shake it with so small a mercy? Of all the things he thought he’d feel for the Evil Queen and her casual cruelties, the pity surprises him. At some point this, this destructive force, became the best choice she had. He may never have had the power to bring low a population, but he’s been close enough to the darkest parts of himself to not recognize that it takes more than a few broken pieces to turn so far from where you began.

The curse prevents him from the remembering the first time he sees Mayor Mills, the movement of time coiled around itself and sluggishly blurred within the confines of the town. It sits ill within him, that implanted feeling of familiarity at odds with the burgeoning sense of déjà vu, magic working with an insidious efficiency. “Of course you know her,” it tells him, “she’s the mayor” and Robin can’t account for the frustration that brings him. He notices her cross the street towards city hall with her stroller, toddler, young boy (no, that’s not right. Is it? The thought takes on a haze and he loses it. Her lad is older – of course he is) and has a sudden urge to see her in white.

The first time he saw Regina after the enchantment was broken, is a full fortnight past the event. The town has been in a frenzy, but Robin has not fared so badly in his new life. His boy is with him and growing happy and inquisitive; the men he works with, his merry band, are back to being more brothers than friends, and the forest remains at his back. He has a scar over his heart where the loss of Marian broke it and mended again, but the intervening years have eased the jagged edges and allowed him to enjoy the memories Roland sometimes evokes when he peers up at his father through her eyes. He learned long ago to make a home of people more than places, so Storybrook can be as much a home as any other. When he does happen upon Regina she’s observing her son and the Prince from a discreet distant. He pulls back, not wanting to draw attention, and when she turns away he gets a glimpse of her face for the first time. Instead of the anger he supposes he should feel, or even the pity he once felt, his heart gives a single, ramshackled thud of response against his ribs. Looking at the evil queen, resplendent in her role, was faintly hypnotic, like a mouse staring down a snake, but this woman was all but stripped of such embellishments. Her dark grey dress is slightly crumpled in the middle from the pressure of her arms as she grips them to herself, holding herself together in every way, and there’s a tell-tale wetness to her eyes she’s obviously trying to hold in. “She’s stunning” is the truth his unentailed heart can now confess to, and what’s more, the blow to the world she made herself has cracked the hard lacquer of power she painted herself with all those years ago. She’s showing now a flashback to the image he could never quite erase, not evil, but hurting and angry.

She takes a breath and makes a visible attempt to collect herself before heading for the building that houses Dr. Hopper’s practice. It strikes him as an odd place for a so-called monster to go, but then perhaps that’s his problem. He’s seen monsters, both the human and the scaly, giggling mask of it, and he’s never been able to think of her as one. True darkness doesn’t repent, it excuses and reasons and justifies. Experience has taught him that you don’t always have to be what you are, but the road back can be a treacherous journey, one he doesn’t know if he would have been able to make without support.

When he looks back, it’s this moment that he recognizes as his beginning; the moment where he promises both himself and the woman disappearing from sight that he will do what he can to ease her passage. He suspected she wouldn’t make it simple, that wounded creatures lash out the hardest, but what worthwhile thing is easily gained? None, any thief will tell you so.

He has a hereto unknown need to see her smile and mean it.

He needs a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I go to write something I find something else that needs to be said first. I never meant for this to be so slow burn. I'm getting there I swear! Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes a month of Robin engineering accidental meetings and casual encounters after the car incident for fate to grace him with a chance for the more substantial contact he craves. When opportunity comes, it comes in the shape of a letter.

Roland receives it one Monday morning, a scant two weeks after celebrating his fifth birthday. He is now very concerned that people understand he is a Big Boy, and is delighted that the post office seems to agree (what could be more grown up than to have his very own letter delivered just like daddy’s?). The envelope is saved, ‘Mr. Roland Locksley’ emblazoned on the front, for the inspection of Little John and the Merry Men, who all concur with appropriate gravity that it is indeed a sign of new-found maturity. It’s in the midst of these theatricals, Roland basking in the centre of it like a little sunflower, that Robin gets to read through the notice properly, edges a little crumpled where a young fist held on to the paper as tight as it could lest he drop it or – worse yet – his prize get left somewhere on the journey from their house to the men.

Robin looks around, and is suddenly thankful for Little John’s sweet tooth, and his insistence on meeting in the ice-cream parlour a little further out of their way, because at one table is Henry devouring a double scoop of Rocky Road, and next to him a handbag that promises Regina’s presence in the vicinity. Roland notices the object of his father’s attention a second later and squeezes his way out of his circle of admirers to seize back his treasure and run over to the older boy he sees around so often.

“Henry!” he cries “I got a letter!”

Henry, it seems, is astute enough to read the air of expectant glee at this announcement and plays his part.

“Wow! You got a letter all to yourself? Can I see it?”

It’s dutifully pushed forward ‘Be a Buddy!’ splashed over the top in stylish script.

Robin makes his way to join them as Henry begins to tell Roland about the school and how fun it is being buddies, slipping easily into a filched third chair from the adjoining table.“You know of this then?” he asks, “It’s not a new thing?”

“Nah, they do it every year,” Henry replies easily. “There aren’t enough children for two schools here, but the new kids are really little and it’s hard with everyone in the schoolyard” he leans forward, man to man, and whispers “They cry a lot the first day”. Robin hides the crook of his lips and gives him a silent ‘Ah’ and a nod of understanding. Leaning back Henry continues in a normal tone, “My mom didn’t like it my first day so the next year they did this thing where the bigger kids go play with the little ones in the summer, then the first week they all wait for them at the entrance and help them out, so everyone isn’t new you know? They have a friend already”

It makes a lot of sense. Robin wonders (only half in jest) if they have a similar support group for abandoned parents letting go of their children for the first time. Roland is an adventurer at heart, he has no doubt he’ll take to school like a bird to flight, but the thought of saying goodbye to his little man, to the passage of time it represents, makes his chest ache in a odd sort of way.

“-and maybe we’ll get paired up!”

The Hood men both jerk to attention, matching gleams in their eyes.

“Really?!” Roland’s excitement distracts from the calculation Robin needs to hide before he’s able to casually interject; “You’re doing this too?”

Henry gives him a grin and scoops up some more ice-cream, “I’m one of the buddies, I do it every year”, his enthusiasm wanes slightly as he spoons the treat into his mouth, a small frown puckering at his forehead. Robin watches him a moment and then looks at Roland with a cheerful “You best go get your ice-cream! Go ask Little John to order, I’m sure he’s ready for seconds”. Roland scampers to his task, leaving the two of them alone.

“Something bothering you lad?” he says in a low rumble. Henry gives him a weighing stare, seemingly unsure if he wants to share, but this man has always been friendly to them, and how many people was that true of since the curse broke? Robin gives him the time he needs, before Henry finally sighs and confesses.

“Mom usually calls the school to tell them I want to do this,” he motions to the paper, “but this year when she called she started whispering down the phone so I couldn’t hear, and she looked angry”. He breaks off, troubled, and Robin gives him a noise of encouragement. “People are really angry at her because of the curse; I know it was a terrible thing and they don’t trust her, but I think they’re giving her a hard time about me taking part. But she knows I like it, and I tried telling her it was fine, but she said she would sort it out and told me to wait here and look after her things”

It’s easy to forget how much little eyes see, Robin muses. He should expect no less from this precocious boy.

He gives Henry a reassuring pat to the shoulder. “Not to worry, I’m heading that way myself to sort out Roland’s part, I’ll make sure things get sorted out” he promises. Henry seems relieved, and asks him to watch his mom’s bag for him before he leaves so he can run to the bathroom. Never one to miss a God-given opportunity he agrees readily, taking the chance to sneak the figure of a curled up fox, short bristled nose tucked snugly into its tail as it sleeps, into the small zippered compartment on the outside of the purse.

Henry returns and sees nothing amiss. Making his farewells Robin exchanges a few words with the men before leaving Roland to enjoy his dessert and heading for the school.

–

 _Ah, not too late_ a grin sweeps unbidden over his face as he spies her trim pantsuit and glossy black hair through the glass archway ahead of him, it seems he isn’t the only one with school business this morning. A short exchange at the entry desk has him heading at an easy stride towards her. It’s not until he’s closer that her voice registers through the slightly ajar swinging doors, low-pitched but unmistakably angry it’s easier to make out now over the muffled sounds of teaching beyond.

“I hardly think it would appropriate for you to-“

“We’ve signed up for the past four years and there has never been _any-_ “

“Ms. Mills, you can’t seriously believe we would allow _you_ -“

“That’s **Madam Mayor** to you, and if you think for _one second-_ “

This second girl at the reception is an unfortunate looking creature, not helped by the unflattering chartreuse of her blouse. She’s curling her lip in a sneer at the woman leaning over her raised desk, and Robin takes a moment to admire this rather impressive display of foolishness. Whatever else Regina may or may not be she ruled the Enchanted Forest a long time, and you don’t survive long in any court without learning to eviscerate – with or without magic – when the occasion calls for it. 

The occasion would seem to call for it. He decides to take the less conspicuous location of a seat on one of the plastic chairs lining this area of the corridor. One of the girls from the entrance approaches the doors only to double back immediately, message still clutched in her hand. They exchange a glance of understanding, he is his chair and she heading the opposite direction, apparently some people still had a healthy respect for the temper of their rediscovered queen. This new position gives him a fair view of her face and she’s in fine fettle. Colour heightened and eyes sparking like black stars, he thinks, not for the first time, how well she wears it. This isn’t the anger of her misery, drawn tight over whitened features, nor the clawing beast of burden to hold back when rage surges; this is good, healthy slug of feeling heating through her and he wonders if she realises that the one thing she doesn’t appear struggling with at this moment is her control over her magic.

The undertone is escalating rapidly to tone. The girl by the door takes a brief look towards them and makes a subtle adjustment to the volume level of the music they have playing in a futile attempt to cover the growing noise.

“I _wrote_ those regulations you’re misquoting, so stop babbling to me when you know damn well you have no way of stopping me from signing my son up. _Furthermore_ -” a curt hand motion circumvents whatever the misguided girl behind the desk was trying interrupt with, “if you don’t like the fact that I am _demanding_ that Henry be included in this school activity then perhaps it’s time for the Mayor’s Office to look into alternative staffing options within this school’s administration”

The women glare at each other silently for an extended moment, one stubborn, the other promising retribution. Finally, the other woman drops her eyes and begins to angrily type into the computer in front of her. The hard tap of keys is the only sound between them for a long minute as the details are taken care of. Task complete, the receptionist squares back off with Regina and fairly spits out the words “There. You’re registered, we’ll call you”. Regina responds with a sneer of her own, but whatever rejoinder she may have had goes unheard as her opponent is not finished. “For all the good it will do you! I may not have a choice over your registration but the other parents have a right to say no, and if you think anyone is going to entrust the safety of their child to the Evil Queen and her freakish brat-“

 

_Too far._

  
Robin is half out of his chair and Regina’s hand half up in the air to – slap the woman’s face? Grab her and shake her like a terrier with a rat between its teeth? A war of possibilities flashes over her features; Henry is a raw area even now their relationship is mending, and Regina looks very much like she’d like to jab those carefully manicured fingernails into some tender places for the insolence.

The shrill tone of a cell phone pierces the scene. Everybody freezes, the tension thickening the blood in their ears as the phone rings on. After what feels like an hour but must only be a second, Regina lowers her hand to take the sleek rectangle from her pocket. She answers it with a terse “Yes” and mouths ‘this isn’t over’ to the suddenly not-so-proud looking figure shrinking into her seat. She seems to have now remembered she’s been teasing a tiger by the tail. 

He sinks back down and Regina sweeps out, her fury unknowingly propelling her past him down the hall. The swift staccato of her shoes is unsatisfying muffled by the pink-grey industrial carpeting as she marches out. He considers following her, but decides instead to take care of this bit of business (and this bit of baggage at the desk) first.

He takes a breath to relax his muscles and prepare a casual smile for the lady (however ill-fitting that term may be) inside, and makes himself wait a short while before entering. His arrival prompts her (D. Tremaine, the nameplate next to her announces self-importantly) to straighten her pose and flutter a hand over her hair. The smile she gives him tries for sweet, as if she hadn’t been hurling insults just minutes before, but it reminds him all at once of the poppy syrup the healer gave him when he broke his arm; sickly with an undertone of decay.

“Good Morning, can I help you?”

“Yes,” Robin replies smoothly, ignoring the new breathy quality to her voice, “my son received this in the post and I would like to register him,” he draws the letter carefully from his pocket and passes it over

“Ah, yes of course,” she simpers “it’s such a _wonderful_ programme for the new ones”. She takes his information far more politely and enters it into her computer. “You’ll be called with the name of your child’s buddy once the sign-up period ends,” an imperceptible pause as her eyes slide over to door the mayor has just stormed out of “however you do have the right to request a transfer should you have any concerns about the person you’ve been matched up with.” She takes a pen from her drawer and reaches for the letter “In fact, why don’t I write my personal number on here just in case you need to discuss it outside of school hours.”

He whisks it out of her reach before she can set ink to paper. “That won’t be necessary; I actually have somebody in mind already.” Her smile falters at his rebuff, but recovers itself as he leans closer and asks “I don’t suppose that would be something _you_ could help me with?” She preens at his attention and assures him, of, course, that she would be delighted to help.

“Excellent, our boys have already met so I think Roland would be happy to spend more time with them” 

She nods “Such a considerate thing to do, if I could just take the name…?”

“Certainly, it’s Regina Mills, her son’s name is Henry” he looks directly into her eyes, voice cool “I’m sure you’ve heard of them”.

Ms. Tremaine’s expression turns brittle, then disintegrates altogether. The “What!” comes out more of a squawk than a word.

“Do you need me to spell that for you?” Robin inquires mildly.

“You can’t seriously want to give your child over to _that_ -“

He raises a single eyebrow, his stare daring her to finish.  “That….?” he prompts silkily. She takes a heavy breath, but not the dare. Biting back her insult, she tries again more calmly. “She was the Evil Queen” she tells him, as if that should explain everything, but an unconcerned wave of his hand brushes the fact away.

“Yes, well, we all have our stories. I understand Ms. Ashley Boyd will be homeschooling when the time comes?”

She gasps, flushing a deep puce at the mention of her step-sister. Point made Robin turns and saunters back towards the corridor. Just before disappearing he turns back, an affable expression pasted to his face.

“Be sure not to forget to call Ms. Mills and let her know”

There’s a choking sound as he moves away, as if the woman behind him has swallowed something unexpectedly unpleasant. Grinning to himself he heads to the exit, he nods a goodbye to the greeter as he signs himself out. She seems to be holding back her laughter. He notices in the same instant that the music playing earlier has been switched off; it seems he isn’t the only one with a robust dislike for the person in the other room.

–

Leaving the school, he heads not towards the main street but further to the outskirts of their community. The streets are less well cared for here on the edges; houses emptied since the curse broke as people drew closer in, not wanting to risk accidentally hitting the boundaries of the town. It’s a good place to get away during the busy summer hours, if you don’t mind the neglected air, a good place to cool the blade of your temper away from the eyes of others. When Regina first comes into sight her back is straight as an arrow, shoulders stiff, and those heels drum a steady-paced _clack clack clack_ into the pavement, the ground-eating strides unburdened by their height.

He trails her awhile, not wanting to disturb her as she simmers herself down. It’s important that she realise she can do this without disaster. Eventually the pace slackens, slows, and brings her to a stop on a bench on the edge of a disused park. He walks slowly to meet her, and while she doesn’t seem thrilled she doesn’t outright object when he joins her, both of them content to sit in silence a while. 

By and by she looks calmer, more ready to interact, and he turns his face to hers.

“I’ve come to deliver the good news” he tells her, and that gets her attention, she shakes her head slightly in a silent _‘What?’_ motion, and Robin continues. “It seems Roland and Henry have been paired up for this friendship programme at school. I hope you don’t mind me requesting it but with Roland already knowing him and all…”

Regina’s jaw drops a little. Whatever she’s thinking doesn’t form and Robin feels a distinct tickle of pleasure at having rendered his queen speechless.

“I’m sure you can expect a call from the _lovely_ lady at the desk to tell you herself, though you may have to give her a few hours to swallow the slice of humble pie I handed her first.

Her open mouth pulls up at the edges, it’s a black-edged kind of humour perhaps, but under it a glimpse of relief that she doesn’t have to disappoint her son. The laugh she gives is short, escaping unintended, but it unwinds the last of the tension from her shoulders.

“How is it you always seem to show up right where you shouldn’t be?” the question doesn’t hold the anger, but rather a faintly exasperated resignation. Not quite the stuff dreams are made of, but encouraging enough that he gives her a rascally smirk 

“Hazard of the trade, once a thief and so on”

She bites her lip but can’t hide the upturned corners of her eyes that betray her amusement. He doesn’t want that to disappear but needs to tell her.

“She shouldn’t have said that”

The humor vanishes as Regina sighs, so tired. “For all my anger, I can’t really blame her” a pause, and then under her breath, “Even if she is a hatchet-faced paper pusher”.

That makes him laugh outright, earning him a sideways look from his companion.

Sobering, he continues; “Yes, you’ve done some bad things, and yes, it’s going to take some people longer than others to see the good in you, but your decisions were your own and not Henry’s. She shouldn’t have said that”

The objection she was going to make at the phrase ‘good in you’ disappears. She considers a moment to herself and then meets his eyes again

“No, she shouldn’t have”

She thinks for a minute, considering, and he can tell from the movement in the corner of his eye that she’s studying him as he pretends to be absorbed in the skyline. After a few minutes she seems to give herself a little shake, at this point he’s seen her at worse times than this and she plunges ahead.

“I didn’t use magic” she tells him.

“I saw” he agrees, “Though I did think at one point you were going to hit her”

“At one point I was going to”

“Not that she hadn’t given you cause, mind you” his eyes find hers again; “I told you before, it’s not about the impulses it’s about the actions. Nearly doesn’t count”

He lets that sink in and then stands up, offering his arm in an old-fashioned gallantry.

“I’m heading back to the ice-cream shop to get Roland before he eats them out of chocolate fudge, I take it you’re heading back to tell Henry?” She hesitates, and then nods her assent. The thought of Henry makes her feel lighter; he’ll be so glad not to miss his back to school tradition.

“Allow me to escort you my lady?” She checks his expression, but there’s no hint of mocking in his face. 

He’s never mocked her, not any time she’s seen him. 

Making her decision, she stands before she can change her mind, giving him a fierce, bright smile that comes so rarely and is so happily blinding in its realness.

“I do believe I would be willing to consider such a request, Sir” she says, placing her arm in the crook of his elbow.

They move forward, both of them now happy for entirely different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to fiadorable for looking over the unfinished draft, any mistakes made since are all my own.


End file.
